Heartless
by TwoGirlsOneSite
Summary: ... Peter Bishop wasn't going to be investigating a gruesome, nightmarish crime scene. He was going to be a part of one. One-shot, M for violence, blood, dark themes, and character death.


**This is written by Lynn with no help or collaboration from Lea whatsoever. She actually doesn't even know about this story. Hope she doesn't kill me!**

**If I owned Fringe, Fauxlivia would have died a long time ago.**

**Unbetaed ;_;  
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Peter had awoken to some fucked up situations before.

When he had been a conman, it was all about keeping his disguise in place. On more than one occasion he had gotten out of bed only to find that his identity had been discovered. Which could lead to many different situations.

Sometimes, the person he had conned would get mad, yell at him, tell them they never wanted to see his face again. Occasionally, they were so angered that they held a gun to his head. But they usually disappeared, afraid of who he might be.

Ever since Peter had started working for the FBI, the situations were different. It was almost always a call in the middle of the night or early morning, telling him he had to be somewhere _immediately_, despite the untimely hour. But there were times when things were different.

Like this time.

_This_ time, he wouldn't be investigating a gruesome, nightmarish crime scene.

_This_ time, he was going to be a part of one.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

He was strapped to a table.

His first reaction was to struggle, but there was a figure looming over him with something sickeningly pointy that was disturbingly close to his skin. Thrashing about was probably not the wisest option right now.

Peter's eyes adjusted the dark room. Blurry outlines of objects became test tubes and vials and even a chart on the wall.

He took his time scanning the room, trying to take in all the details. The man with him had not yet noticed that his subject was awake.

_Where am I...?_

Peter was positive that he had never been in this room before. He had no earthly idea of where he might be.

A voice suddenly rang out in the room, breaking through the think silence.

"You're awake."

_He recognized that voice._

The man was wearing a doctor's mask, goggles, and a sterile suit. It was only just possible for Peter to make out who he was.

"_Brandon?_"

Disbelief, shock, and betrayal were all evident in his voice. Brandon Fayette would _never_ do something like this.

Unless...

"I'm not in my universe, am I?"

Brandon hesitated before speaking.

"You are in _your_ universe. The one that you betrayed."

Peter could feel his insides clench.

"No, my father betrayed me. This is _not_ my home. Let me go."

His friend's alternate ignored him.

"_Let me go!_"

The scientist turned to face Peter. The youngest Bishop could see his eyes through the protective goggles, and they were hard and merciless.

"_No._"

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Peter had vanished without a trace.

Astrid had been trying to convince Walter that he'd just needed some time away from them. He had come back from existence a few months ago; maybe all the attention was overwhelming him, maybe he just needed to be alone for a little while.

Olivia was finding this incredibly hard to believe.

She knew her boyfriend, and he had been overjoyed, _ecstatic_ to be back. He'd spend every minute possible in the lab with his small family unit. He wouldn't just disappear, and he _definitely_ wouldn't leave without warning.

Something was wrong.

She finally caved in and decided to track his cell at 2 A.M. the next morning.

It didn't exist anymore.

_That _was when she urgently contacted Broyles.

"Peter's missing."

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Pain.

There was a _lot_ of pain.

Agonizing, burning, never ending pain.

Brandon had been cruel enough to paralyze Peter while leaving him completely awake with his feelings as acute as ever.

He couldn't even _scream_.

His chest was being cut open, his flesh as feeble as himself. Warm blood spilled onto and over him, staining the cot on which he lay.

Was this the _end?_

It couldn't be. He was supposed to go out a hero, fighting until the end, not a useless body lying motionless in a dark laboratory.

It was so stupid to survive Fringe events and the machine and universe hopping and time traveling and nonexistence and then get killed by a _knife._

Which is why Peter always hated irony.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Olivia's phone was ringing. The caller I.D. showed that Broyles was trying to reach her. Hopefully with news. Panicking slightly, she held her mobile close to her ear with a shaking hand.

Struggling to keep the tremor out of her voice, she flipped open her cell.

"Dunham."

"_We found him._"

She wanted to throw herself on the ground and sob with relief. Peter was okay...

"_Be at Liberty Island as soon as you can._"

Olivia was already stepping into her black SUV.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

She hated him.

Brandon Fayette (our side) was a nice man. He had helped with several cases and had proven himself useful and trustworthy. His goofy antics had made her smile on a few occasions.

But Olivia hated him _so damn much._

It wasn't _his_ fault that his alternate had killed the man she loved. But she felt like it was. It _had_ to be. Peter Bishop was dead, she needed to blame _somebody._

His chest had been cut open, his heart had been removed. He was awake and alert the whole time.

She couldn't blame the man who had actually done it. Alternate Brandon had been killed. By _her._ But it had been a simple shot to the heart, no suffering included.

He had deserved so much more.

Olivia sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, tears trickling slowly down her face.

Peter was gone.

Her heart was broken beyond repair, and he didn't have one anymore.

;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;

Peter may have been the one without a heart, but it was Brandon who was truly heartless.

**Don't know why I wrote this, exactly. Review!**


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